The TP Warrior
by King Spoot
Summary: Join Beavis and his unstable alter-ego as he ventures throughout Feudal Japan, potentially messing up a timeline for the sake of scoring!


Yeah. I don't own Inuyasha or Beavis and Butthead. Felt like writing something without rhyme or reason until my writer's block ceases.

* * *

Beavis' condition hadn't improved any, as far as any sensible person would reason. Sadly, Butthead's sense gracefully flowed like a rhino, kicking his friend square in the ribs. As far as he was concerned, that buttmunch stole a piece of candy he saw first, never minding the fact Beavis tripped and stabbed himself in the eye with it. A fight ensued, Beavis got the upper hand and devoured it whole as Butthead looked on, laughing. The problem being, Beavis seemed to choke on it, grasped wildly at his neck and collapsed on the ground.

A full ten minutes of seizures passed without anyone on the field trip noticing. In fact, both of them had been stuck down the well for a good twenty minutes. Dariah might have and figured it to be one of their idiotic episodes. Butthead's comment of, "Whoa, cool," echoing off of the stone walls did not phase her in the least bit. If only she noticed the brilliant red glow eminating from Beavis' neck instead of trying to listen to the Japanese tourguide struggling to pronounce a single English word.

"Hey, hey, check it out!" Beavis wheezed. "My, my neck! It's vibrating!"

"Huh-huh, vibrating."

"No, check it out, buttwipe! It's shaking! Wah-ha-ha! It's glowing! And... tingling!"

"Dude, you're tweaking."

"It's not funny, Butthead! Ah! It burns! It buuuuurrrrrrrnza! Fire! Fire! Fi-brack!" One loud belch sent a fireball screaming through the air. That, everyone noticed, before being enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke. "Oh, god! It's burning! It's not coming out right! It's-"

The ground shook from the explosion as Beavis lept five feet up into the air. How his shorts stayed on after that flaming fart, he handn't the slightest, let alone enough sense to get out of the cloud of dust. "It's my ass!" he hollared, wide eyes quivering. "It's my ass! I need TP! TP! TP for my bunghole!"

Fighting through the fog, swiping vainly towards his friend, Butthead caught a glimpse of Beavis' pulling his shirt over his head. "Calm down, Beavis."

Too late. "I am Cornholio!"

As it turns out, that wasn't a piece of candy at all; Beavis swallowed a Sacred Jewel Shard. And that wasn't just a flaming fart; his body began dumping the excess energy to keep from blowing up. Right then and there, Beavis ingested a plot device and ended up with a hyperactive overload of energy. His alter ego burst forth like a bat out of hell, including another blast of power which sent Butthead flying. That boy shot out of the well so fast he knocked the Principle through a pasta cart.

Now, that's all the boring detail. The school's budget actually allowed for a international field trip. Those two boys mistook a fairly dangerous magical item that litterally glowed in warning, one swallowed it and its tremendous amount of energy placed Beavis on a permanent adrenaline binge. The well he fell down, for one reason or another, dragged him in and shot his sorry ass out into feudal Japan. There really can't be anything else to add to that. Super Power Cornholio standing on top of a hill, commenting on how cool the trip had been, instead of worrying over the fact his sorry backside wasn't in Kansas anymore (not that he could tell the difference between Kansas and Japan beyond one had cowboys and the other had ninjas).

Ah, that power! Fists clenched, holding back the purple flames coating his palms, Beavis scanned the horizon as would a true warrior. White flags in the distance piqued his curiosity. "Are you threatening me?!" he yelled, arms held at ninety degree angles beside his head. Then it dawned on him - white, soft and waving in the gentle breeze. After all, there is only one thing they could possibly be. "Give me your TP!"

With that, he took off. Arms still held up, legs kicking so fast they became but a blur, Beavis rocketed across the fields of grass, cutting a swath down the middle. "TP! Give me your TP! Wah-ah-ah-ah!" All of the peasants preparring the fields for the next crop could just make out a purple ball of fire speeding faster than an arrow, along with a haunting voice calling, "I am Cornholio-oh-oh-oh! I need TP for by bunghole-ole-ole-ole!"

Weaving around ditches, leaping over boulders, speeding over ponds, Beavis wasn't stopping. A deep, gutteral, "Vrrrrrroooooom!" bubbled from his throat, his wild imagination taking a back seat to being the Flash. Such speed required a great obstacle to effectively block. Too bad the wall of demonic soldiers lacked the necessary density to impede his progress. Sesshomaru, tall and mighty atop his draconic steed, riding casually in the midst of the ranks, didn't even know what hit him.

* * *

The ringing in the demon lord's ears did not cease. The impact not only winded him, it blasted him straight through a few trees. A moment passed before he found the strength to rise and gods, he wondered if it had been wiser to stay down. A skinny child, eyes glowing purple, vehemently wiped at his ass with one of the royal banners. One of the bull demons still standing after the, well, bullrush, made a grab at the kid.

"Are you threatening me?!" _Slap! _The once all-white banner, spiritually clean and full of dignity, knocked the demon to his knees. "I slap you again!" _Whack! _The demon lurched to the other side, a tiny handprint red on his cheek. Not yet finished, Beavis went into a slap-happy overdrive. "Slap-slap-slap-slap-slap!" Four hundred slaps a minute! "Slapslapslapslapslap!" Five hundred! "Slapslpthlpthpthpth!" Ridiculous! The final impact sent the bull reeling! "You do not want to face the wrath of my bunghole!"

The clicking of a katana against its sheath alerted the hyperactive hero to a new challenger. "Are you threatening me?!" Sesshomaru hadn't even drawn the sword when Beavis leapt in front of him. Time seemed to stand still, eyes narrowed on the lord, eyes quivering on the seeker of TP. Fingers tightened, alerting the spazzing kid to danger, the lord unable to strike anything save air.

Beavis ducked, arms still poised, focusing on an early morning flower. "Two lips. Heh-heh, heh-heh. Cool. Heh-heh." The sword flashed, aiming to behead the little freak, missing yet again. A growl rose from Sesshomaru, striking this way and that, each swing and stab missing every time. Something finally did catch the blade, although it was not the wet, pulpy smack of flesh being separated. Much to his disbelief, Beavis intercepted it between his buttcheeks, and wrenched the sword from his hand.

A raging howl alerted the peasants beyond the valley of the pressense of demons. A few bold fellows charged up the hill, farming tools in hand. What was it they were seeing? A demon lord clawing wildly and a small child spinning like a top. It seemed as though Beavis knocked the lord about without laying a hand upon him, but au contraire, the hilt of the blade clenched in his buttox gave Sesshomaru a rhapsodaisy in the kisser.

Growling, eyes red as blood, the demon lord crawled back up from the ground. "Where is he?!" he hollered, frantically searching for the hellish imp that smacked him. He had no chance to move, blinking in shock as Beavis seemingly reappeared in front of him. And that day, good friends, became to be known as the Day of Wounded Pride, better known as He Slapped Me With My Own Sword Day.

"Trick or treat, sunnova beech!"

* * *

The faux rumble of a straight-twin engine eminated from the throat of the psychotic hero. Fists clenched and shaking, he scanned the battlefield for any who dared to threaten the seeker of TP. Battered and bruised, their prides shot to hell, the demons wearily glanced up at the confusing chanting.

"The Almighty Bungholiooooo-oooooh!"

The banner had been claimed as his own, its once sacred threads desecrated when the stinkin' igit pulled it between his legs and began rocking. One demon carelessly arose, only to be smacked right back down by the whipping cloth. "You do not want to face the wrath of my bunghole!" For good measure, Beavis kicked the demon square in the ass, bowling him straight into the already infuriated Sesshomaru.

That dialect... What was it, Anglo-Saxon? Middle-English? The demon lord took pride in knowing many cultures, deeply professed in the politics of the world. Exactly what defined a 'bunghole, he hadn't the slightest. That imp, however, had no right to exist in his domain, especially after it brought the lord to his knees. It suddenly dawned on him what this thing was, spotting a purple glow emanating from the kid's chest. In the politest of terms, that little bastard swallowed a jewel shard! Hadn't his own bastard of a brother located them all within reason of the wolf-demon keeping his pieces?

Knowing better than to risk getting his ass handed to him again by the little weirdo, Sesshomaru kept hidden under the groaning demon, propping up the loyalist's massive thigh to spy on Beavis. "Wakka!" he heard the boy yell, frowning at the sight of another soldier being thrown against a tree. "Wah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!" A purple fiery blur caused another demon's head to rapidly swing side to side, the harsh slapping echoing through the valley. "Beech!" he heard the boy scream, frowning even more as another servant succumbed to the deadly hands breaking the sound barrier. "Beech-beech-beech-beech!"

Damn it, the kid still clenched the katana between his butt cheeks.

"You will all bow down before the Mighty Cornholio!" Too late on that one. Fifty groaning demons had just suffered and indignity of ultimate slapitude. "Slapitude," he mused, gleefully rubbing hands together at newfound creativity. "Heh-heh, heh-heh. I like to slap. For I am the Great Cornholio. Heh-heh."

The quivering eyes of the fearless adrenaline junkie rose before the mountain blocking in the valley. "Mount Kill-A-Man, uh, heh-heh, Kill-A-Man-Jaro. Yeah, that's it. Heh-heh." Turning back towards the demons, not that any could understand him save Sesshomaru (and he wished he didn't), Beavis called out, "I must go now! My bunghole is needed elsewhere! Heh-heh. For I am the Great Cornholio, slayer of the non-believers!" Before the closest demon made a fairly stupid move to grab Beavis, the kid took off like a rocket, blazing straight for the mountain with cloth in hand.

One crooked arm held the banner overhead, the other matching position save for his palm kept flat. "Nah-nah-nah! Nah-nah-nah! Gimme fue, gimme fah, gamma dabajabada! Heh-heh." The guttural roar of an engine rising from his skinny throat cut off the rendition the coveted Thrash Metal band. Fists clenched tightly and pointed towards the ground, the tough-guy pose somehow aiding his sprinting. Chest puffed out, serious expression unable to hide the beaming victory in his eyes, Beavis sailed towards the looming mountain he surely claimed from the demons.

"Vroom!" Up he shot, the increasing incline proving no challenge to the thrusting fire behind him. "Thrust, heh-heh," he chortled, feet no longer touching ground, energy propelling him higher. Ah, such power! To think of how many women he will now score with! That should be in a Heavy Metal music video, he reasoned, where a flaming rider straddles some hot chick. "Oh, wait. Heh-heh. They already have that. Heh-heh."

A clearing along the side of the mountain cut back into a small forest. He found it a proper place to land, out of reach from the demon lord smarting below. Setting down was easy, his shoes making little noise. "Oh, yeah, heh-heh," he muttered, bending over to mimic a very crappy three-point landing pose for good measure. But now was not the time to be childish! Marching a ways into the enveloping trees, Beavis decided upon a smooth boulder lodged into the earth to act as his throne.

His clothing in tatters, split apart by the whipping wind of his ascent, the Mighty Cornholio had a brilliant plan in honor of those 70's martial arts films that taught him how to fight. Just how it worked, he did not know, nor did he seem to care. A flick of his fingers released tiny magical hooks, something he still found humorous like most everything else. Clawing at the banner, stripping it into a pile of strips and threads, he set to work on a proper attire worthy for a wearer of the triple-spiked dragon claw stripped black belt of super death-doom.


End file.
